These Are the Days

We're having a down week. Not in that dark depressing way, but in that we're-coming-off-of-3-weeks-with-family-and-friends-and-need-to-get-back-into-our-groove-way.

This week has been slow and graciously full. The scorching heat finally gave way to the most perfect and beautiful summer weather. We've been soaking it up. Our garden is thriving and thick, our new $5 sprinkler is being put to good use almost daily, and Ainsley's new confidence on her bike had led to many fun outdoor adventures. I'm loving summer.

::the new hosta row Ruth and Dan labored over amongst other sprucings up in our backyard::

::new and improved cloth diapers, drying in the sun::

I've been feeling very reflective lately, highly motivated to finally change those things about myself that are irking and really live life to it's fullest. It occurrs to me every day that these are the days with my girls that I'll look back on fondly all too soon. I don't want to have any regrets.

It is a constant battle to let go of the little things that don't really matter. Allow the house to get a bit trashed, the laundry to pile up and dishes to remain undone. The hardest hurdle for me as a parent is to be present with my girls in every moment. To stop my neurotic adult brain and remember what it's like to be a child, only filled with joy and exploration and wonder, and indulge them in every journey they wish to take.

A few months back a friend made a comment on a post of mine that stuck with me. "The universe always gives you what you need. It gave you Ainsley and Ainsley you. What a perfect pair!" It is true. I've been so focused on what I give Ainsley, how I parent her, love her, "deal" with her sometimes even, that I've neglected to see all that she's given me.

Aside from making me a parent, bringing out both a love and rage that I never knew I had in me, she's taught me so much. She forces me to get out of my comfort zone. While I'd almost always rather hang out in our house or backyard, relaxing, doing small art projects and calm acitivites, Ainsley wants to get OUT. She wants activity and adventure. She LOVES to go downtown, look at the trains, go for walks without holding my hand, test every physical boundary that she can ALL DAY LONG. That child needs to MOVE.

For an introvert like myself this has been beyond challenging at times. I admittedly have shed tears over how different Ainsley and I are. How I knew from birth that we butted heads, but also that I knew I loved her more than anything and gosh darnit we were going to work this out and thrive together.

Last night Ian and I went out to dinner ALONE. Auntie Sonya insisted on watching the girls and we indulged at a local gem. We sipped on wine and beer respectively, ate amazing food and talked. I mentioned these thoughts to Ian, admitting that I still struggle with giving up my own ideals for Ainsley's, for our girls', for our family's.

He knowingly smiled and nodded, grabbing my hand and letting me know that he knew. "You can say no to me, but you can't say no to Ainsley." He's so right. I want my girls to be strong and independent. To not be afriad or anxious of the mundane things that paralyze me. I can't ensure that unless I let go, put on my mama pants (yet again) and get over myself.

I know that Ainsley and Louise are going to LOVE having a new babysitter to play with some afternoons while we go to the pool. Ainsley is going to relish in the freedom at playschool this fall away from me and Louise. It's just me that will be holding back tears, perhaps gasping for breath as a surge of sadness and discomfort sweep through me that my girl is growing up, needs me less, needs me to back off sometimes and step up others.

I guess mainly I'm surprised that I still have so far to go, so much to learn about being her mom, their mom, heck A mom. Perhaps the first step is admitting that I don't have it down quite yet. That we still get frustrated with eachother, lose patience and misunderstand. I just hope that she knows that under it all I love her so much, that I'd truly do anything for her, and that secretly I'm really glad she's not so much like me.